


control the narrative

by mydearmoon



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Soft Rio (Good Girls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearmoon/pseuds/mydearmoon
Summary: Beth finds that getting her house back might be complicated.Set immediately after 3x07
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 17
Kudos: 100





	control the narrative

* * *

Convincing her children of what happened is surprisingly easier than she though it would be. Arriving to an empty house was completely shocking and immediately confusing, and her children are quick to spout off possible theories.

“It’s a government conspiracy! …No, wait, it’s _aliens_!” shouts Kenny who, much to Beth’s dismay, recently watched all the Men in Black movies at a friend’s sleepover.

“Aliens, aliens, aliens!” chants an eager Danny.

“I bet Santa took it all,” Jane is firm.

Emma’s eyes widen, “He did not!”

“Yeah it _was_ Santa!” Danny, always quick to latch onto the latest and greatest opinion, now cackles with delight.

“But Santa always leaves us presents,” Emma’s voice is shaky, and she looks up searching for her mother’s reassurance.

Beth knows her children well enough that their squabbles are moments away from turning into tears. It’s time to shut things down.

“It wasn’t the government, or aliens, and definitely not Santa,” Beth chides them. “This was your mother being tired and forgetful.”

“I signed up for a new home cleaning service a few weeks ago, and _completely_ forgot that they were coming by today to clear out the house. They’ll be returning everything soon!” She smiles brightly, peppering her tone with exclamation points. 

Kenny squints at her, still unconvinced.

“But why’d they have to take everything away?”

Beth let’s out a laugh and tussles her son’s hair.

“Aren’t I always saying how much of a mess this place is? We were due for a real deep cleaning, and I got the _best_ deal on the platinum package!”

She continues on, detailing every element of this amazing, one-of-a-kind cleaning service, and how lucky it was to get an appointment, because boy! The waitlist was _miles_ long, and gosh! Aren’t they excited to see how spotless the kitchen will be?

And as it turns out, providing an answer that is both so unusual and so uninteresting ends up being _just_ the right mix to appease them. Because seriously? How’d she come up with the idea of an extreme house cleaning service?

With the children satisfied (that is, bored) with the story, they quickly move on to sliding and chasing each other across the empty hardwood floors. Beth lets out a relieved breath and takes the moment to look over at her husband. She finds Dean leaning against the sink with eyes shut. She watches him open and close his fists slowly, again and again, perhaps wishing that the repeated motion will be enough to will their house back to its prior state.

_Christ_. Really? For someone who had lied _for_ _months_ about having cancer, had lied _for_ _years_ about being a faithful husband, can’t he at least try to feign…anything? Just _anything_ to keep their kids from noticing something is up?

So, Beth gives her next statement as clear direction, “And now your father will bring you to Grandma’s to spend the night.”

When Dean does’t respond, she says it again, firmly, louder. “Dean. You are bringing them to your mother’s.”

Still nothing.

“ _Dean_.”

Ah. That does it. Her sharp tone finally snaps him back to the present. Dean opens his eyes and understanding finally passes over his face.

“Oh. Yeah. Hey, let’s go, kiddos, I bet Grandma will let us build a blanket fort.”

As they follow their father to the door, what Beth doesn’t expect is for Jane to give an excited yelp.

“My dubby!” 

All eyes follow Jane, and sure enough, there it is. Folded small and neat, sitting in a corner of the living room, is Jane’s beloved blanket.

Jane races over and picks up her dubby.

“Mom, look! And the cleaning people left us a snack!”

She proudly holds up the box that had been safely tucked under her blanket.

“It’s fruit snacks! Like the ones Marcus always has!”

Just like that, Beth feels all the dread swirl wildly in her gut at the mention of Rhea’s son. Of Rio’s son. Sure enough, the purple box of fruit snacks that Jane is holding is the brand that Rhea kept on hand. The sweet boy that he was, Marcus would always share a pack with Jane and proudly say, “It’s _organic,_ ” stressing the word as if he was letting her in on a wonderful secret.

The dread sinks deep, deep, deeper as Beth struggles to keep a smile on her face.

“It’s time to go.”

* * *

Convincing herself that she’ll be able to get their home back in order is not as easy.

As she drives, Beth carefully scripts exactly what she’ll say, adjusting word choice, planning her pauses. She wouldn’t call Rio _fair_ exactly, but he does seem to humor her and she’s got a feeling that if she frames it _just right_ , she might be able to convince him that taking all their belongings was perhaps, excessive.

Beth parks her minivan along the street and heads over to the familiar picnic table. The quiet, cold air is strangely comforting as she takes a seat. She’s not sure when it happened exactly, but at some point, sitting alone in the darkness stopped shaking her nerves. There’s something about these brief moments of stillness that now brings a certain type of calm.

The quiet moment is soon interrupted with tension when Rio arrives. For someone who moves so fluidly, his presence still cuts the air sharply, commanding any space he enters. Tonight he’s alone, without his usual boys accompanying him. He approaches with hands in his pockets, stopping a few feet away from where she sits.

Neither say a word and Beth focuses her eyes on a flickering streetlight. Two seconds on, _flick_ , three seconds on, _flick_ , one second on, _flick_ — 

“You got somethin’ to say?” He says in a tone she’s too familiar with, deep and impatient.

One breath in, one breath out. “Give it back.”

Well. Not the poignant speech she rehearsed on the drive over, but it’s certainly to the point.

“Oh? You think that’s how this works?” Rio’s eyebrows raise, the irritation in his voice is obvious.

Still, Beth manages to draw some lingering courage and sits up a little straighter.

“You took everything. Now give it back.”

“Nah, ma. I didn’t take _everything_ ,” Rio tilts his head and smirks, “How’d Janie like her snacks? She remember to share? I left ‘em a whole box.”

Beth can hear the mocking in Rio’s voice, and she hates how damn pleased with himself he sounds, as if he knows that leaving the dubby and that stupid box of snacks had completely unnerved her. Had been a loud reminder that everything about this was carefully orchestrated, and that Rio had planned it all.

Beth ignores the question, “You’ve made your point. Now give me back my house.” Reluctantly, she adds a terse, “Please.”

The grin on Rio’s mouth stretches wide and he lets out a long laugh.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna do that just yet.” He lets the words out slowly, letting each one fill the space between them.

“Oh, and do you actually like holding onto their bunkbeds?”

She knows he won’t bother answering her question, he never does.

“Found some good stuff.”

He’s intentionally vague and Beth feels her own impatience growing.

“It’s all junk. Just give back my kids’ their rooms.” 

Rio is silent as he walks closer. His eyes turn dark when he reaches inside his jacket.Beth has to fight to keep her breath from catching.

_He wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t…_

And he doesn’t. It’s not a gun that gets pulled out, but rather a small stack of envelopes. 

“Didn’t know you were such a writer.”

He spreads the envelopes on the table in front of her, fanning them out like playing cards. Only four envelopes, but each is thick and with names written in her careful cursive. _Emma_. _Jane_. _Danny_. _Kenny_.

“Kinda hurt there’s not one for me,” Rio says dryly.

“Did you read them?” Beth asks and she can hear the tightness in her voice. The letters in those envelopes weren’t ever meant to read by anyone, not really.

Rio continues to avoid her questions, choosing to respond with one of his own. “When’d you write ‘em?”

She doesn’t need a straight answer. Of course he read them.

She’s upset and embarrassed and upset even more, but she’s had a lifetime to practice repressing her feelings. _What a shit night._ Beth collects the familiar envelopes, her actions more deliberate than necessary. _Fuck this._ She smooths out each one, ridding them of non-existent wrinkles. _Fuck him._ With the same measured motions, she places them neatly in her purse and starts to get up,

And again, Beth doesn’t expect the action that happens next.

Rio quickly rests his hand on her shoulder. He doesn’t grip down and there’s no real force to it, It’s just - there.

It’s enough to pause her movements.

Rio’s doesn’t move his hand and repeats, “When you’d write these?”

This time, Beth looks directly at Rio, “You’re an ass.” She shrugs his hand off her angrily, glaring at him. 

Rio looks back at her with amused eyes and quickly responds with an easy, “I know, ma.”

Beth feels her cheeks flush. How is he so _good_ at that? He so effortlessly navigates between such contrasting roles, going from threatening crime boss right into …flirty neighbor? She doesn’t even know what to call it. But right now, Rio’s traded some of his typical hardness with just the smallest bit of softness. And honestly, she hates glimpsing into this side of Rio. She hates being reminded that he, too, is human and can find the humor in a situation. That’s what normal people do. And Rio is anything but.

It’s hard to forgive herself for shooting a man who is just human after all.

“C’mon, Elizabeth,” he prods once again.

Alright, fine. Perhaps this will get her one step closer to getting her home back.

“The night you showed up at bar. I went home and wrote a letter to each of my kids,”Beth says simply, truthfully. She waits a beat, unsure of whether she ought to admit what comes next.

“When you kill me, I don’t want them to forget me.”

* * *

Whenever she, Annie, and Ruby have talked about death, the conversation remains focused on the practical details. Where to find account information and emergency numbers, who can help Dean figure out the laundry machine, how to convince Harry that the dentist isn’t his enemy, and the like.

What Beth has never voiced out loud is how scared she is that her children will simply grow up and forget her. They are so, so, _so young_. And while she knows they would be devastated, she can’t help but wonder if their youth will allow them to adjust and adapt to their lives without her.

“We used to have a dog, you know? We had to give him away. They cried for weeks. For _weeks_.” Her words hold some bitterness now, ”Danny would leave little notes on the kitchen table every night, begging us to get him back. And then, one day, they just moved on. Just like that. Stopped talking about him. Stopped everything. I don’t even think they remember his name anymore.”

She’s rambling, but she doesn’t really care. 

Rio remains quiet, his hands clasped together. He presses his lips together in firm line and looks away. Beth finds herself annoyed with his lack of response, but keeps on going, anyway.

“Do you think it’ll be worse for them to forget me? Or to find out what I’ve done and never forgive me?”

Her rambling is moving itself into unraveling. She can picture it: Her, bloody and lifeless on some dirty floor. Rio will probably fuck with her and shoot her in the same places she shot him. Lung. Spleen. Shoulder. Only he’ll make sure to not leave behind loose ends. And when she is dead, there won’t be anyone to twist and hide what she’s done. One by one, her sins will be on display for her children to see.

_She can’t let them learn about all the shit she’s done._

So Beth does what she does best and slips into problem solving mode. It is a role she has played since she was a teenager, and dammit - she can figure this last one out. He will kill her, that she believes. But she can form the narrative to protect the lies after she’s dead.

The streetlight still flickers. Three seconds on, _flick_ , one second on, _flick_ , four seconds on, _flick._

“Make it look like I did it myself. When you kill me, make them think I did it.” Her voice sounds faraway as her mind scrambles to piece together believable details. “Don’t let them find me murdered. Don’t lure me into some dingy warehouse and please don’t use your fucking gold gun.”

One second on, _flick_ , two seconds on, _flick_ , one second on, _flick._

“Use the gun you gave me. It was in my closet. The Adidas shoebox. Just come to the house, there’s a spare key near the backdoor.”

Desperate, she tries to picture her desk calendar with all its important dates and events. She continues in rushed words. “Early afternoon. Not on Wednesday, the elementary school lets out early on Wednesday. And not on a Tuesday either, that’s garbage day. Someone might see you.”

Beth can tell her voice is pitching higher, and she fights to steady it. She didn’t imagine she’d end up giving her future killer advice on how to not get caught, but her mind is racing and every thought in her brain feels like it’s screaming.

“Thursdays are best. Do it on a Thursday. Annie helps pick them up on Thursdays. I need her to be with them. Dean won’t be any help, he’s awful dealing with any crying.”

Tears are threatening to fall, but Beth blinks them away quickly. She remains adamant, “Annie needs to be there. They’ll need her. She’ll teach them how to take care of each other.”

Beth is past the point of frantic now. Has she considered all the details? What’s she forgetting? Shit. _Shit._ She needs to check what she wrote in these letters. Beth rummages through her purse, and _where are the letters_?She can’t find those fucking letters. Dumping the contents of her purse on the table, she desperately grabs the first envelope she sees, ripping it open. She scans the words, and _shit_. Do these even sound like the words of someone who would —

“Hey.” Rio’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Hey, ma. Relax.”

He wraps one hand around hers and pries the paper out of her hands. She shakes her head furiously.

“Just let me do this. Just let me _do this_.” It takes so much to stay focused now, and Beth is so tired. She’s just so fucking tired and she can’t even go home to sleep because she has no bed and —

And the moment shatters. All the words she’s so carefully strung together fall apart, and the tears and rage she so carefully kept away are violently released.

Uncontrollable sobs rack her body, but when Rio tugs at her to get up, she does so without resisting. Wordlessly, he carefully puts one hand around her waist, another cradling the back of her neck. He leans in close until their foreheads are nearly touching. The closeness startles Beth enough to interrupt her loud sobs.

They stand together like that, with Beth listening to Rio’s breathing and she slowly starts to match its rhythm.

That damn streetlight still flickers.

Two seconds on, _flick_ , four seconds on, _flick_ , three seconds on, _flick._

It is intimate, this dance they do.

* * *

It’s not clear how long they stand like that, but eventually her cries subside and her breathing returns steady.

Rio breaks the silence with a low hum.

“You really gon’ tell me how this shit all goes down, huh? Think you get to decide?” There is no malice in his words. “You gonna send me the Google calendar invite an’ everythin’? Get a Zoom scheduled so Mick can watch?”

Despite herself, Beth gives a small smile. “Probably not. I don’t have his email.”

Rio’s body shifts and he begins to straighten back up. Beth finds it hard to not lean her body towards his. She is relieved when he reaches up to trace a finger to her cheek.

“You’re fuckin’ bossy.” His voice is low and gentle.

“I know.”

Her echoed reply earns a small laugh, and Rio moves his fingers to give her hair a light tug.

“Kids know more than we think.” Rio’s voice is so quiet that she strains to hear. “But they forgive you. They always do. Kids are good at that.”

And the way Rio says it, Beth wonders if he speaks from experience. How many times has he had to let Marcus down, how many after school games and celebrations has he missed? Only for Marcus to have to forgive and forget, again and again.

He’s still got her hair between his fingers, and Beth raises her eyes to meet his. The way he’s looking at her, studying her, could almost be categorized as tender. She can’t help but think how absurd this night has been.

Their faces are just so close, and suddenly Beth wants very much to act irresponsibly.

When Rio’s gaze linger to her mouth, she licks her lips on impulse.

Her actions don’t go unnoticed. Rio chews his bottom lip, and traces her own with his thumb. The look in his eyes lets her know he is turning over conflicting thoughts in his head, over and over. They’ve been here before, she and him.

Beth breathes in slow, willing him to hear her very irrational, unwise thoughts.

_Please._

In a blink and you’ll miss it moment, Rio shakes his head very slightly.

_No._

Beth leans back on her heels and blinks twice, slowly.

Okay.

Abruptly, Rio’s hands drop back down and he takes a few steps back.

There’s only a few feet separating them, but the distance seems to remind them both of what this moment really was and the roles they play.

“You gotta toss those letters, a’ight? Don’t need ‘em.”

Beth’s brows furrow in confusion at Rio’s words.

Sticking his hands back into his pockets, Rio replies matter-of-factly, “A boss don’t get ready for death. We just don’t die.”

* * *

Rio walks her back to her car, giving her a long look as she gets into the driver’s seat.

“You good?”

Beth takes a chance. “I’d be better if I had my home back.”

Rio gives her one of his irritating grins. “When I’m ready.”

* * *

She stops at the 24 hours CVS on the way home and buys a box of matches. She’ll burn those letters.

This boss bitch won’t die.

**Author's Note:**

> Written out of the stubborn belief that Rio stole everything from the Boland home *but* the dubby :)


End file.
